


warm and fuzzy

by valety



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff, Hair Brushing, Other, POV Second Person, Post-Pacifist Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 09:07:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5961820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valety/pseuds/valety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chara has a nightmare and Asriel helps them relax.</p>
            </blockquote>





	warm and fuzzy

**Author's Note:**

> soft.................

You're woken in the middle of the night by someone moving. Your mattress dips, and when you open your eyes, Chara's sitting on your bed.

"What's wrong?" you ask, still groggy.

Chara doesn't answer, but they're trembling, you realize as your eyes adjust to the dark, and so you sit up as well.

You drape your blanket over their shoulders. They pull it tightly around themselves, and through the quilt, you begin to rub their back. "Bad dreams?" you ask softly.

Chara nods silently.

You slide off the bed. "Come on," you murmur, holding out your hand. "Tea will help." 

Chara takes your hand, letting you pull them upright, and you lead them out into the hallway, pausing outside of Frisk's door.

"Do you want...?" you start to ask, but Chara shakes their head.

"Let them sleep," they say. "They need it. They get nightmares too."

You nod, and you continue walking hand-in-hand, guiding them downstairs and to the kitchen in the dark.

You switch on the lights, and for the first time since you woke up, you get a good look at them. They're thoroughly sleep-rumpled, their hair a tangled mess, wearing nothing but their nightshirt and your blanket hanging from their shoulders like a cloak. The circles underneath their eyes look like bruises. 

You glance at the stove. The clock say it's half past midnight. Late, but not so late that either one of you will really suffer in the morning, just so long as you get back to bed soon. 

"You can wait in the living room if you want," you say, careful to keep your voice low. You don't want to accidentally wake up anybody else. "I'll bring you a cup when it's ready." 

Chara only grunts, pulling the blanket even closer around themselves before shuffling towards the living room like a dead-eyed zombie. 

You're not entirely sure what it implies about the nature of your relationship that nights like this have become routine. Still, you suppose a part of you is grateful. You're not grateful that it _happens_ , of course, but you're grateful you have some idea of what to do by now.

Once you have the kettle on, you sneak a peek into the living room to see how Chara's doing. They've turned on a single lamp and have sunk into the sofa, apparently having transformed into a scowling mound of blankets and bedhead.

You don't ask them how they're doing. The answer's obvious, and if you waste their time, they'll probably throw something at you. You duck back into the kitchen. 

In a way, it's better that they woke you up instead of trying to hide it the way they used to. Chara can rarely fall back asleep after their nightmares and they always suffer for it. Heck, sometimes they spend entire days holed up inside their bedroom because of how cranky and exhausted their dreams leave them. When that happens, you always toss out your own plans for the day and join them so that the two of you can spend the whole day cuddling in bed. But as much as you enjoy the cuddling, your mom got kind of mad at you the last time you ditched school to stay with Chara. It's up to you to help them get a good night's rest.

When the tea is ready—chamomile, sweet-smelling and relaxing—you head into the living room and give Chara their mug. They accept it with another grunt, glaring sullenly into the amber liquid.

"Do you need anything?" you ask.

"No," Chara mutters.

"You're not hungry?" 

"If I eat right now, I'll just get sick."

"Let me know if you change your mind. I can make you toast or something." 

Chara rolls their eyes. "Thanks, _mom._ "

You generously  ignore that remark.

For a moment, you simply stand there, hands curled around your own mug as you watch Chara sip their drink.

If they stay like this—all tense and miserable—then the rest of the night will definitely suck for them as well. And you _do_ have school tomorrow—as much as you might like to, you really shouldn't skip to stay behind and comfort them. You got off pretty easy last time, but you doubt your mother would be anywhere near as lenienta second time.

The lamplight falling on their auburn hair almost makes it look like gold, and before you can stop yourself, you're asking, "Can I brush your hair?"

Chara's head jerks upright and they shoot you a look of visible disgust. For a moment, you're fully expecting them to say _no,_ given just how horrified they look. But then they glance away, and after a beat of awkward silence, they shrug and say, "All right."

You can't quite hide the grin that follows.

You set your mug down on the coffee table and creep back upstairs as quietly as possible. When you return, brush in hand, Chara's perched on the very edge of the sofa, hands folded on their lap, mug is sitting beside yours. They look more than a little uncomfortable, but they don't say they've changed their mind or anything; instead they ask, "Where should I sit?"

Hmm. You hadn't thought about that. "Anywhere you want, I guess?" you answer, and with a nod, Chara plops down on the floor, cross-legged, blanket still around their shoulders. 

You sit down on the couch behind them. Chara scoots back between your legs. They lean back slightly, resting their head against your stomach, and you place your hands on their scalp.

"Why exactly do you want to do this?" they ask, sounding suspicious.

"Your hair's interesting," you lie, carefully beginning to run your fingers through the red-brown strands. "I don't know many people with hair like this. They're all either bald or just have fur, and fur's boring."

"You're weird," Chara mutters, but they fall silent as you continue carding your fingers through their locks.

"Plus, it's a mess," you add, and Chara gently bops your foot with their fist.

It's not entirely a lie. Their hair _is_ interesting to you. It always has been.

They didn't used to like it when you touched their hair. The first time you'd ever tried to, you had both been kids. You'd wanted to know what all that red would feel like and had reached out on an impulse, only to be rewarded by them biting you. But you were patient—not to mention motivated by that same curiosity that had driven you to ask to see their teeth (so blunt!) and compare your hands (their fingers are soooo long!) so many times—and eventually, Chara had agreed to let you brush it for them when they didn't feel like doing it themselves.

Privately, you can't help but feel a little smug whenever you think about it. You had been the first person Chara had ever trusted to do that for them. That meant you were _special._

(But apparently, it had never occurred to Chara that you weren't _just_ motivated by your curiosity. You were also motivated by the fact that their hair was very soft and very pretty, and also by the fact that it smelled vaguely of something other than the shampoo you shared, something kind of spicy, and you really, really wanted to figure out that smell. Not that you would ever, like, intentionally try to smell it or anything. That would just be weird.)

Chara's hair is wavy, you notice as you stroke, slowly working through the tangles with your fingers. Normally they keep it so short that their head almost resembles a flower, little curls and cowlicks sticking up all over just like petals. But it's getting longer now, almost falling to their shoulders, and it makes them look far older than you would have guessed had you ever tried to picture it before, back when you were kids.

Their shoulders are tense against your chest at first, but gradually, they begin to relax. Finally, when you're satisfied with what your hands can do, you pick up the brush and gently begin to run it through.

"It's too long," Chara mumbles as you work. "I'll have to cut it soon."

They sound displeased, and for a moment, you wish that you could see their face, just to make sure they're okay. But their shoulders remain relaxed, so you continue stroking, trying to keep the motion slow and undemanding. 

"Maybe I'll cut it even shorter this time," they add like an afterthought.

"How short were you thinking?" you ask.

"Bald." 

"If you go bald, I won't be able to brush it for you anymore," you reply, voice mild.

A pause, and Chara says, "Maybe I won't cut it. I could dye it, though." 

"What colour?" 

"Silver. Or gold. Then we'd match," they answer.

You think of the hint of yellow in your scruff. It would be nice to match, you decide, even though you like the colour Chara's hair is now. You don't really want them to change it. But if they did, you'd probably like the new colour just as much, if not more.

Chara sighs, but it's a happy sigh. Sleepily, they murmur, "This isn't bad."

As you're gathering their hair into your hand, you accidentally brush your fingers along the nape of their neck. They shiver slightly, and you pause, worried that you've accidentally made them uncomfortable. But they slump backwards even further, draping their arms loosely over your knees and giving the command, "Keep going."

You smile at that. Of course you'll keep going.

This time, when you brush your fingers along their neck, you do so on purpose. Once again, they shiver.

After another moment or so of steady brushing, Chara says, "I had a bad dream."

You give a little hum of acknowledgement, as though you hadn't already known. Curious despite yourself, you ask, "What did you dream about?"

If they'd had a nightmare about something in particular, you wanted to take care of it. You don't know what _taking care of it_ would entail, exactly, but you have a vague mental image of destroying something for them if they need you too, an image likely fueled by equal parts sleep deprivation and concern.

"I...don't remember," they reply at last. "But I think I was alone."

Their shoulders are tensing up again, and you lightly run your hand over their head.

"You're not alone," you say simply. "I'm here. Frisk and mom and dad and everybody else is here, too. You have a lot of people, now."

Once again, Chara relaxes back into you.

"I know," they say.

You hope they really mean it. But even if they don't, you'll remind them of that fact as often as they need.

You spread your fingers wide, dragging them evenly through Chara's hair. This time, it's admittedly more for yourself than Chara, but they don't seem to mind, offering another happy sigh when you do. They tip back their head, gazing up at you, and despite the bags beneath their eyes, despite how _tired_ they must be, they still find the strength to grin.

Maybe _you're_ just tired, too, but you feel a burst of fondness swelling up inside of you when you see their smile. It's all that you can do to keep yourself from leaning forward and kissing them.

They're beautiful. Everything _about_ them is beautiful. The lamplight may make their hair gleam even more than usual, but even without the light, it shines. And feeling them relax like this because of you...it's nice. It feels _good,_ to be able to do this for them, even though it's something so very, very small, something anyone could do.

(But it's _not_ something anyone could do. It's something only _you_ can do. _You're_ the one they trust the most, your smug inner voice points out, and you smile quietly to yourself.)

Your almost-empty mugs of tea continue growing cold upon the coffee table, and you continue brushing. But gradually, Chara begins to slump against you more and more, their breathing growing slow and even. You say their name, a soft-spoken "Chara?", but they don't answer, and you suppose that they've finally fallen asleep.

You glance up at the clock. Just past one. If they can stay like this, then they should be okay in the morning, regardless of whatever they had dreamed before.

You gently pull away, careful not to jostle them too much. They're a light sleeper, after all. But you don't want to leave them sitting on the floor, either—they'll wake up stiff and aching, and then they'll be cranky all day, even if they're not still anxious and unhappy from their dreams.

Well. Only one thing to do, then.

You lean forward and scoop them up into your arms, blankets and all. It's easy enough to do, given how slight they are.

They stir a bit, giving a sleepy little murmur, but fortunately, they don't wake up. And, like, that, you carry them upstairs.

It takes quite a bit of fumbling to get Chara's bedroom door open when your arms are full like that, but you somehow manage it in the end. You place them on their mattress, carefully tucking in your quilt around them. It doesn't look as though they're going to be letting go of it anytime soon, and you have more than enough fur to keep yourself warm without it.

You place your hands on your hips, satisfied. There.

But then as you're about to go, something grabs the sleeve of your pajamas, holding you in place. When you turn around, Chara's bright red eyes are peering at you through the dark.

"Stay with me," they order softly.

"I thought you were asleep," you whisper back.

"I was faking it. Stay with me, Asriel. My dreams get all warm and fuzzy when I sleep with you."

Heat blooms on your cheeks. Your mouth curves into a dopey grin. "All right."

You climb under your quilt with Chara, who instantly curls up against you. You wrap your arms around them and they fall asleep in moments, this time for real, their breathing becoming a slow and steady rhythm.

You follow them soon after, and your dreams that night are peaceful.


End file.
